Great fare for lovers of police stories and a dead-on accurate portrayal of the era’s attitudes toward women.
The NYPD's "No Girls Allowed" sign fades in this fictional account of a real woman’s struggle for respect and success in a profession that men wanted all to themselves.
Men wanted all the manly stuff, anyway, like murders and armed robberies. The New York City Policewomen’s Bureau gave the gentler gender something to do, like arresting pickpockets, shoplifters, and hookers. But policewomen wanted more. In 1958, Marie Carrara (in real life, Marie Cirile) is a “handpicked gal,” chosen by her boss to assist male detectives in robbery stakeouts and drug buys. Note: assist only. “Girls can’t be real police, baby,” Marie’s cop husband, Sid, tells their daughter. “They stay inside, so they can’t get hurt.” Former NYPD detective Conlon's (Red on Red, 2011, etc.) novel follows the growth of a career and the disintegration of a marriage. In 1955, Marie joins in family laughter about the idea of “she-cops” who “might as well join the circus.” Then she passes the policewomen’s civil service exam and never looks back. Over the years she takes on difficult cases and realizes she isn't "a kid anymore, but a cop on a job.” In her marriage, Sid cheats while Marie would no more stray than be a Soviet spy. And he frequently beats her, which she puts up with for years. “You’re nothing without me,” he tells her, which cannot be further from the truth. They’re traditional Italian Catholics, and the word “divorce” would give their parents the vapors. So for a long time Marie publicly pretends to be in love with Sid. But she tells his lover on the phone, “Pick him up in the next hour, and I’ll give you a free toaster.” Meanwhile, day by day, she earns professional respect and eventually earns promotion to detective. There are no dramatic set pieces in the novel, yet it’s an engaging drama with cinematic potential. Society was on the cusp of major change, and the Policewomen’s Bureau would disappear in the early 1970s when people became police officers instead of policewomen and policemen.
Great fare for lovers of police stories and a dead-on accurate portrayal of the era’s attitudes toward women.Pub Date: May 7, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-948924-07-8
Page Count: 430
Publisher: Arcade
Review Posted Online: March 17, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 2019
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
A strict report, worthy of sympathy.
A violent surfacing of adolescence (which has little in common with Tarkington's earlier, broadly comic, Seventeen) has a compulsive impact.
"Nobody big except me" is the dream world of Holden Caulfield and his first person story is down to the basic, drab English of the pre-collegiate. For Holden is now being bounced from fancy prep, and, after a vicious evening with hall- and roommates, heads for New York to try to keep his latest failure from his parents. He tries to have a wild evening (all he does is pay the check), is terrorized by the hotel elevator man and his on-call whore, has a date with a girl he likes—and hates, sees his 10 year old sister, Phoebe. He also visits a sympathetic English teacher after trying on a drunken session, and when he keeps his date with Phoebe, who turns up with her suitcase to join him on his flight, he heads home to a hospital siege. This is tender and true, and impossible, in its picture of the old hells of young boys, the lonesomeness and tentative attempts to be mature and secure, the awful block between youth and being grown-up, the fright and sickness that humans and their behavior cause the challenging, the dramatization of the big bang. It is a sorry little worm's view of the off-beat of adult pressure, of contemporary strictures and conformity, of sentiment….
A strict report, worthy of sympathy.Pub Date: June 15, 1951
ISBN: 0316769177
Page Count: -
Publisher: Little, Brown
Review Posted Online: Nov. 2, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 15, 1951
BOOK REVIEW
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
APPRECIATIONS
The phrase “tour de force” could have been invented for this audacious novel.
Four men who meet as college roommates move to New York and spend the next three decades gaining renown in their professions—as an architect, painter, actor and lawyer—and struggling with demons in their intertwined personal lives.
Yanagihara (The People in the Trees, 2013) takes the still-bold leap of writing about characters who don’t share her background; in addition to being male, JB is African-American, Malcolm has a black father and white mother, Willem is white, and “Jude’s race was undetermined”—deserted at birth, he was raised in a monastery and had an unspeakably traumatic childhood that’s revealed slowly over the course of the book. Two of them are gay, one straight and one bisexual. There isn’t a single significant female character, and for a long novel, there isn’t much plot. There aren’t even many markers of what’s happening in the outside world; Jude moves to a loft in SoHo as a young man, but we don’t see the neighborhood change from gritty artists’ enclave to glitzy tourist destination. What we get instead is an intensely interior look at the friends’ psyches and relationships, and it’s utterly enthralling. The four men think about work and creativity and success and failure; they cook for each other, compete with each other and jostle for each other’s affection. JB bases his entire artistic career on painting portraits of his friends, while Malcolm takes care of them by designing their apartments and houses. When Jude, as an adult, is adopted by his favorite Harvard law professor, his friends join him for Thanksgiving in Cambridge every year. And when Willem becomes a movie star, they all bask in his glow. Eventually, the tone darkens and the story narrows to focus on Jude as the pain of his past cuts deep into his carefully constructed life.
The phrase “tour de force” could have been invented for this audacious novel.Pub Date: March 10, 2015
ISBN: 978-0-385-53925-8
Page Count: 720
Publisher: Doubleday
Review Posted Online: Dec. 21, 2014
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 2015
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
PROFILES
PERSPECTIVES
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